


(Hershey's) Kisses Go Well Together With Peanut Butter Cookies

by eledhwenlin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil finds a grumpy Christmas elf on his neighbor's door step.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Hershey's) Kisses Go Well Together With Peanut Butter Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> I took this prompt and ran with it. I hope you like the result, OP!
> 
> My gratitude goes to omens for providing a lightning fast beta. <333

Phil curses when he realizes that he's forgotten to buy peanut butter _and_ maple syrup. He's not sure which is worse: without the peanut butter it'd be very difficult to bake his favorite peanut butter cookies, but Phil absolutely can't have his traditional Christmas morning pancakes without syrup.

Sighing, he glances at the kitchen clock. The store's always open, but it's Christmas Eve. Phil did all his shopping last week exactly so he wouldn't have to go anywhere near the store today. It's going to be crazy, people stressed out with finding last minute gifts, it's going to be loud and crowded.

Garfield comes up and presses himself against Phil's legs, meowing loudly. When Phil reaches for the box of treats, he absently wonders why it's so light until he shakes it--only to hear nothing of the expected rattle. Garfield is now sitting on the kitchen counter, looking at Phil in a rather unimpressed manner. Phil feels quite judged by his cat.

But the lack of cat treats cinch it. Phil sighs. "I guess I have to brave the shop after all."

So he puts on his shoes again, slips into his coat, grabs his wallet and keys and opens his apartment door--only to stop short. 

Across the hall, a Christmas elf is sitting up against the wall and glaring at his hands where he's turning an elf hat over and over. The red-green costume is completed by a beat-up leather jacket and combat boots. The overall impression is of someone who doesn't want to be here.

Phil hesitates for a moment before he says, "Hello."

The elf looks up, his glare turning unsure. "Uh, hi."

Phil just looks at him for a moment and cocks his head. "New neighbor?" he asks finally, although he's sure he hasn't seen this guy around. He would have noticed him, with those shoulders and legs. The latest tenant moving in was Natasha--whose door the guy is sitting next to.

"No, I'm just waiting." As far as answers go, it's not very useful. Phil's contemplating if he should try and throw the guy out. Natasha never mentioned a boyfriend, as far as he can remember, but she's also more than capable of taking care of herself if this guy is an unwanted guest, though, so maybe Phil just shouldn't get involved.

The guy seems to realize that he's looking kind of suspicious as well because he hastens to add, "Nat, I'm waiting for her. I, uh, locked myself out of my apartment and she has my spare key."

Phil looks at Natasha's very locked door. From the few conversations he's had with Natasha, he can't tell what her normal work schedule is like, except that it seems to be quite irregular. When Phil sees her at 7am, she's as likely to be coming as going. 

"Have you tried calling her?"

The guy looks kind of sheepish. "My phone's broken."

"Well, then let’s hope that she isn't working another all-nighter," Phil says as he locks up his apartment.

The guy makes a face. "Fuck, I hope not," he says.

Phil goes to the supermarket in an amused mood. However bad his day is going, someone else is having a worse day. 

The crowd actually isn't too bad and he makes it out with only a handful of unnecessary spur of the moment purchases. He'll still try to avoid a similar excursion next year, but it could have been much worse. It puts him into a good mood, humming on his way up.

When he reaches his floor, he sees that the guy is still sitting there. Only now he's shivering. The hall is pretty cold and the elf costume seems to be made for show rather than warmth.

Phil hesitates for a moment but the guy's looking so dejected and then he wraps his arms around his legs for warmth and, dammit, Phil's always had a soft spot for strays. It's how he got a cat, after all. Christmas seems the right time to pay forward some of his good fortune. Phil's never had to wait in a cold hallway for a friend to come home but he's been in enough shitty situations to know the value of a stranger's kindness. 

So as Phil unlocks his door, he says, "Do you even know if Natasha's going to come home tonight?"

The guy looks up. It's clear he doesn't know from the way he shrugs. "Wouldn't matter either way he says. The _I have nowhere else to go_ comes through clearly. 

Any resistance Phil might have had left melts away. He nods at his door. "Come in. The least I can do is to offer you a cup of coffee and cookies."

The guy blinks, visibly surprised. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Phil says. 

"You don't know me."

Phil offers his hand. "You don't know me, either. My name's Phil Coulson, I'm the assistant director of a high school, and if you try to murder me, I was in the army long enough to pick up some useful tricks."

The guy grins and gets up. "Clint Barton," he says. "Currently in security and definitely not going to try and murder you."

The grin does surprising things to Phil, things he doesn't want to contemplate at the moment.

Once inside, the motions of putting on a new pot of coffee and putting away his groceries carry Phil through the next fifteen minutes. Then he has to admit that a) he's really bad at small talk and b) he has no idea what to do with this stranger at this dining table.

Clint's sitting there, cradling the coffee mug like it's holding the answer to life, the universe and everything in it. He's taken off the leather jacket he was wearing over his costume. The costume is sleeveless, so it's no wonder Clint was freezing, but it's also nicely emphasizing Clint's very impressive arms. Phil's not normally taken in by physical features--well, okay, he tries to look beyond that, being past his prime, it's not like he's in a position to throw stones. But there's no denying that Clint's pretty well-built and it's distracting. It's not like Phil never sees any attractive men but the majority of them don't end up in his apartment, drinking coffee out of Phil's Captain America mug (the one with the shield from the '92 commemorative edition).

Thankfully Garfield saves Phil from trying to make forced small talk by jumping on the table and sitting right in front of Clint as if he didn't know that tables are off limits (at least while humans are sitting there; Phil's entirely aware of the limitations of teaching manners to his cat).

"Garfield!" Phil moves over to pick him up, but Garfield retreats between the safety of Clint's arms. Phil pauses. "You know, he normally hides from everyone."

Jasper, who feeds Garfield when Phil's out of town, says that he'd swear an oath that Phil didn't own a cat if the cat food didn't disappear every day and the litter box weren't used. He says he's never even seen Garfield when Phil wasn't there. Jasper has been working at Phil's school for eight years and they've been friends for seven of those.

"I feel special," Clint says grinning. He cautiously reaches out and scratches Garfield's neck. Garfield, the traitor, starts purring like a mini diesel motor and leans against Clint. Phil will deny feeling jealous of his cat until the day he dies.

"His name is really Garfield?" There's a certain amount of cheerful delight in Clint's voice, but Phil feels a bit flustered. He blames the arms. Clint's still petting Garfield, the repetitive motion mesmerizing in his steadiness. Phil could watch those fingers thread through Garfield's fur for hours.

Phil shakes himself out of it and shrugs. He points at Garfield, meaning his orange fur and the bad behavior. "He hasn't shown any interest in lasagna yet, but the rest fits."

Clint laughs. "If you need a pasta-eating pet, I can bring my dog. Although Lucky much prefers pizza to anything else."

Of course, Clint's a dog person. Or, as Phil continues watching him petting Phil's cat into ecstasy, maybe he's an everything as long as it holds still for cuddling person. Phil only indulges the fantasy of offering himself up for any touching Clint's willing to disperse for a short moment. Considering Phil's luck, Clint's probably carrying a torch for Natasha. Speaking of Natasha…

"They sound like they would make a great pair." Instead of suggesting that Clint and he would make a great one as well, Phil awkwardly gestures at his phone. "Ah, would you like to use my phone?" Smooth, Coulson, Phil thinks.

"Huh?" Clint looks up from where he has buried both hands in Garfield's fur. If Phil puts his hands anywhere near Garfield's belly, he's sure to carry claw marks for the rest of the week. Right now Phil's not even sure who he's supposed to be jealous of.

"To call Natasha," Phil clarifies. "To ask when she's coming home?"

"Oh," Clint stops his petting. Garfield grumbles and presses his paw against Clint's bare arm--without claws. At this point Phil starts suspecting there's something magical about Clint that makes animals love him. "Um, I can leave if I'm bothering you. I'm warm enough again, thanks."

"I didn't mean that you had to leave," Phil hurries to say. "I just meant--" He stops short of saying that Clint probably has more interesting things to do than hang out in Phil's kitchen. Phil's boring, most of his DVDs are about Captain America and he was about to bake cookies. In fact, Phil's vague wave as he talks seems to draw Clint's attention to Phil's kitchen counters which are occupied by the various baking ingredients he put out before realizing that he'd forgotten peanut butter.

There's something wistful in Clint's eyes which seems to be entirely at odds with the forcibly casual way he's holding himself. "You were making cookies."

"Yes," Phil agrees. "I always have some for Christmas Day, even if it's just me. Most years I go visit my sister and her family, but this year I opted to stay at home."

"Sounds like a nice tradition." Clint ducks his head. "I, um, I don't know Nat's phone number."

Phil raises his eyebrow. He doesn't have the impression that Clint's a crazy stalker, but that was unexpected. But Phil works with teenagers, he can hear an obfuscation a mile away. "You don't have it or you don't remember?"

"Can't remember," Clint says. "Nat says I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached."

There's nothing about this that Phil should find adorable. He's attracted to competent, capable people who have their shit together and know what they want. Clint doesn't exactly exude that kind of aura.

Garfield gets up, apparently satisfied with the amount of petting. It leaves Phil again with Clint sitting at his table. But this time he has an idea what to do next. "How good are you at baking cookies?"

"Dunno," Clint says. "Never make any."

"Never?" Phil feels his soul being crushed. He thinks of the peanut butter cookies he always makes, of the snickerdoodles he makes on bad days, the giant triple chocolate chip cookies that's his staple for broken hearts as the administrative staff and all teachers at his school and a few of the students can attest to. He can't imagine a cookieless life.

"I usually just buy a box and--" Clint shrugs.

Strangely that's the thing that decides it for Phil. Store-bought cookies can never live up to homemade ones. "That's it; you're drafted. You're helping me bake cookies."

Clint grins. "Can't turn down an offer like that."

Instead of explaining that he wasn't really _offering_ , Phil grabs the block of post-its he keeps next to the fridge.

"Here, write a note for Natasha and put it on her door."

Clint scrawls something that Phil hopes Natasha will be able to decipher.

"Don't let my cat escape," Phil calls after him. He hesitates a moment but then he digs out the two Christmas-themed aprons, a White Elephant gift from years ago. They're the epitome of kitsch and Phil normally tries to forget he even has them. Attempts to get rid of them via White Elephant proved fruitless. But for this particular baking adventure they seem to be appropriate.

Phil puts his on and starts to set everything up. 

Clint's gone for longer than Phil expects. There's a cold draught coming in from the door. Garfield is nowhere to be seen. 

Phil ventures into the hallway to check what's going on only to find Clint coming back in with Phil's cat clutched in his arms.

"He, uh," Clint says.

"You let my cat escape," Phil says, somewhat amused.

"He only got to the first landing," Clint says, as if that makes it better. It's not exactly charming but Phil likes it anyway. Like Clint, who he's only just met anyway, against his better judgment that nothing good can come of this.

"Oh, just until the landing, that's hardly any escape at all," Phil says. He closes the door after Clint, who looks almost pathetically grateful that Phil isn't yelling or kicking him out. It makes Phil want to wrap Clint up in a warm blanket and feed him hot milk and cookies.

"Let's put you to work," Phil says. "Before you can get into any more trouble. 

Clint grins and lets Garfield jump from his arms. "Let's make some cookies."

The thing is, Phil might have underestimated how much chaos and trouble one single person can cause. Phil's side of the counter is almost pristine, the batter ready in his bowl, the ingredients orderly at the side. Clint's side is…. There's flour spread around his bowl, a few drops of batter on the counter where it's dripping from Clint's spoon as he waves it in his hand while telling an outrageous story. Phil doesn't think that the apron (which Clint pulled on with delight) has helped much in keeping Clint's clothes clean.

It's fascinating. That's why Phil can't stop watching Clint. At least that's the excuse he's sticking with.

"… and then Nat came to my rescue," Clint finishes.

Well, if Phil ever wants to get a definite answer about what exactly Natasha is to Clint, he's not going to get a better opening. "She does that a lot, doesn't she?" he asks.

"She's my best friend," Clint says. "I'm lucky to have her."

"How did you meet?" As far as Phil knows, Natasha is working as security consultant. She exudes exactly the air of competence Phil would go for if he was the least bit interested in women.

"At work actually," Clint says. "She was working security at this shindig and I was security for this one guy."

"Sounds intriguing," Phil says.

Clint laughs. Phil could get used to that sound. "Doing security is really boring. Most of the time you're just standing around a few feet away while everyone else is enjoying the party. "

"And you've been friends ever since?" Phil asks.

"Yeah," Clint says. "Nat got me a gig at her company which is way better than my old one."

"And additionally you're …" Phil glances at Clint's costume, "moonlighting as Santa's elf?"

Phil expects a glare but Clint blushes and laughs. "Kinda. I, uh, there's this children's group I volunteer with and today they were doing a thing and I got to give them little presents."

Phil's heart grows about five sizes until it's big enough that it feels like it won't fit into his chest anymore. "That sounds … nice," he says.

Clint smiles, something different than the cocky grin Phil's seen so far. It's small and shy, private and bearing the promise of a thousand secrets.

Phil wants to know the secrets, want to kiss that smile and know if it tastes as good as it is to look at. Phil thought he'd gotten over wanting things he can't have.

"The kids are great," Clint says, oblivious to Phil's inner turmoil. "They're not used to getting much, so they are happy about anything, even if it's a simple $5 gift." He falls silent. "I wish we'd had something like that back then."

Oh. Oh. Phil's heart does that weird squeezing thing again. Impulsively, he says, "I wish you could've, too."

Clint gives him that smile again. Directed at Phil, it's even more devastating. Phil smiles back and bumps their shoulders. They work in silence afterwards. Phil has no idea how to go on with their conversation.

When his door bell rings, Phil feels relieved for the welcome interruption and annoyed because it's kind of nice to be working with Clint like this.

It's Natasha at the door, somberly dressed in dark clothes. She raises an eyebrow at Phil's apron and bows down to give Garfield scratches. All these people petting his cat are spoiling him, Phil thinks.

"Is he still here?" Natasha asks.

"Yes." Phil tilts his head. "Where else would he be?"

"He doesn't always stay where he should," Natasha says with a shrug, a multitude of other answers hiding in the simple motion. Strangely, it doesn't help any to abate Phil's desire to study Clint inside out.

"We're making cookies," he says instead of asking--well, any of the thousand questions he has.

"I guessed."

The oven timer dings. Since Phil has watched Clint put in the sheet in the oven, he'd like to prevent Clint from taking it out as well. He fears both for Clint's fingers and the cookies. Oh, and his kitchen counters.

"I better go and check," Phil says. Natasha trails him into the kitchen where Clint's peering into the oven.

"They look good," Clint says. He sounds both surprised and pleased. Phil squashes the irrational urge to give Clint all the cookies.

"Let Phil take them out before they burn," Natasha says. Clint rolls his eyes at her, but steps out of the way. He brushes Phil's arm and--no, Phil can't spend even a second thinking about it. He's got it bad enough as it is. Instead Phil focuses on the cookies--no small feat with Clint standing behind him, just off to the side, close enough that Phil would swear he can feel Clint's body heat.

Phil very carefully sets the baking sheet down on the pot holder, letting the cookies sit there for a moment. When he turns, he catches Clint and Natasha in a silent conversation, held entirely through eyebrows and looks.

Phil wonders when Natasha is going to haul Clint off to her own apartment, but she's leaning against Phil's table like she's planning to settle there. She picks at Clint's shirt beneath the apron. "How come you forgot your keys?" Natasha sounds like this isn't the first time she's asked that question, a bit amused, a bit unsurprised and a tiny bit long-suffering.

Clint shrugs, not the smooth lazy motion Phil's seen so far, but a short awkward jerk. "Just forgot 'em," he mumbles. He glances quickly at Phil and suddenly Phil gets it. Clint's embarrassed, although Phil thinks he doesn't have any reason to be. So he decides to share a story of his own.

"Once Garfield escaped and when I ran after him, the apartment door fell closed. I had to knock on my neighbor’s door, clutching my meowing, struggling cat to beg them to let me call a locksmith. I think you'll probably come out ahead, no matter what your story is."

Clint grins at Phil, relieved, and the sight of it does not give Phil happy warm feelings at all. Phil turns away but he catches Natasha smirking at him. He thinks he might be busted. Since no threats are coming, he guesses his apparent interest in Clint is okay. Now he only needs to find out if Clint's okay with it as well.

"I was running late," Clint says. "I couldn't find my pants and then Lucky's bowl was empty and I'd almost forgotten to grab the kids' gifts." Didn't even realize I didn't have my keys until I wanted to go home."

Nat sighs, but doesn't say any anything. When Phil looks at her, she's smiling, though. "Do you want to go home now?"

"No," Clint says immediately but then he falters.

Natasha's smile turns somewhat terrifying, Phil thinks. Then he realizes what Clint just said.

"Um," Clint says. "I mean--thanks, Phil, for offering me shelter. I've annoyed you enough by now." He stares at the bowls and spoons and flour covering Phil's once pristine kitchen counter, frowning.

"It was nice having you," Phil offers carefully, not quite sure how to react to Clint's sudden change in mood. It was apparently the wrong thing to say because the smile Clint gives him in return is weak compared to the happy shit-eating grin he wore while cheerfully mixing cookie batter.

Natasha seems disappointed and there's another silent conversation going on that Phil carefully ignores. In the end she sighs. "Thanks, Phil, for taking care of him."

There's something sharp hiding underneath her words but she's still looking at Clint. Phil catches Garfield to prevent another escape attempt when Clint and Natasha leave.

Phil's apartment seems much too quiet now. Phil goes back into the kitchen to finish the last batch of cookies. It keeps him busy for another ten minutes at least.

Phil feels weirdly reluctant about cleaning the kitchen, cleaning up the evidence that Clint was here. Garfield's sitting on the table and Phil definitely feels judged by his cat. Nothing new there.

"He wouldn't have stayed, anyway," Phil tells Garfield. "He's much too--"

Someone's knocking on the door. It could be anyone, there's no reason for Phil's heart to beat faster as he's walking to his front door. It could Mrs. Miller from next door borrowing some sugar (unlikely). It could be a collector (even more unlikely). Just because Phil wants it to be a particular person doesn't mean it's going to be him. Phil opens his door, feeling very much like being seven years old and opening presents on Christmas Day.

Clint smiles at him. He has his hands buried deep in his pockets. Phil wants to grab him and drag him back into his apartment and his life.

"Nat gave me my spare key," Clint says. "I didn't want to leave without saying thanks, though."

Phil doesn't mention that he and Nat already thanked him. Instead he smiles back. "It was my pleasure."

Something brushes against Phil's calves but before he can bow down and pick up Garfield, Clint's already done so and he's now cradling Garfield in his arms. Phil admits that maybe he actually is jealous of his cat.

"Hey you," Clint says to Garfield. He sounds a little wistful, but maybe that's just Phil's imagination.

"Would you like to take some cookies with you?" Phil asks out of desperation, clutching to any topic that might make Clint stay for a bit longer.

"Sure," Clint says grinning. "After all, I put so much effort into them.

He steps past Phil into the apartment, brushing by Phil maddeningly close.

"It would be inhuman to deprive you of what you worked so hard for," Phil agrees. He wants to grab a freezer bag, but settles on a Tupperware container. He wishes he could say he did it for ecological reasons but even he can't lie to himself that much. The laws of polite society prescribe that Tupperware has to be returned. So if Clint wants to see Phil again, he can come back to drop off the container. And if he doesn't, if tonight was simply a pleasant evening without any further meaning, well, then Clint can simply give it back to Natasha who can hand it back to Phil, who then can get over the rejection in private. It's a win-win situation for everyone, really.

"They smell great," Clint says as he watches Phil fill the container.

"You were an invaluable help," Phil says. He closes the box and offers it to Clint with a flourish.

When Clint takes it, his fingers brush Phil's and hold him wrapped around the box. Phil looks straight into Clint's eyes. Clint smiles. "Thank you for taking me in," he says. "Not a lot of people would've done that."

"It was my pleasure, "Phil says again. "I--it's the time of year to do good things."

"But still." Clint looks at Phil with an intensity that sends shivers across Phil's skin. Phil's throat feels tight so he just nods.

"Have a merry Christmas."

"The same to you."

After Clint leaves, Phil stares at the closed door for the longest time. The air has a strange sort of electricity in it in Clint's wake.

Garfield meows pitifully.

"Yeah, me too," Phil says.

He feeds Garfield and manages to catch a Christmas movie on TV. Although Garfield lies down next to him and even lets himself be petted, Phil feels as if there's someone missing. 

The movie ends and Phil realizes that he can't even tell what he just watched. He rubs his face tiredly, suddenly feeling every single day of his 52 years of existence weighing him down. "I should go to bed," he tells Garfield. Garfield doesn't deign to honor him with an answer but when Phil gets out of the bathroom, Garfield's lying at the foot of his bed.

It's definitely the most morose Christmas Day morning Phil's ever had. He almost regrets not accepting his sister's invitation to come visit for Christmas, but he'd just been there for Thanksgiving. While he enjoys the loud hustle and bustle of her family and spending time with his nieces and nephews, if given the chance, he'd rather sleep in on Christmas Day.

So it's ridiculous that he feels it's too quiet. "Get a grip," he tells himself and indulges in making the most opulent breakfast in the history of holiday breakfasts. He's just trying to decide between chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry pancakes (or maybe both?) when the door bell rings.

There's absolutely no reason for Phil's heart to skip a beat. He's being ridiculous, he tells himself all the way to the door. It could be any neighbor or even Nick on important mission to "rescue Phil from boredom". It doesn't have to be _him_ , just because it was him yesterday. Garfield's sitting at the door meowing. Phil calls out, "Just a moment," when he picks up Garfield so he can open the door.

It is Clint, with a golden retriever mutt sitting on his foot. He proffers the empty Tupperware box. "We finished the cookies," Clint says. 

Phil smiles. "Hi and merry Christmas to you, too."

"Oh." Clint blushes. "Um, merry Christmas."

Phil tilts his head as he looks at the empty box. "Where those your breakfast?"

Clint blinks.. "Uh, no?"

"Do you like pancakes?"

"Yes?" Clint's starting to smile. He tries to suppress it, keep his face neutral, but it's there, in the corner of his lips, his eyes, the way his face is lighting up. "You offering?"

Phil steps aside and watches amused as the dog bounces inside, dragging Clint after him.

"Lucky, stop, dammit, dog," Clint curses as he stumbles. "Show some manners."

Lucky looks up at Clint in a way that reminds Phil of Clint look at him just the same way and he thinks that the saying of a pet and owner being alike has never sounded truer.

Garfield grumps when Phil carefully sets him down but Lucky just thumps his tail. He seems more interested in the bacon in Phil's kitchen than chasing Garfield. 

"Lucky likes cats," Clint says. "He won't hurt Garfield."

He says it carefully. Phil looks down at Garfield strutting past Lucky, not paying him any attention at all. "Are you sure?"

Yeah." Clint looks serious. Phil thinks they stopped talking about their pets.

"Come on, the coffee's freshly brewed," Phil says instead of anything like _I'm glad_ or _I trust you_ or _please stay forever and prove it to me_. Clint beams as if Phil's said it anyway.

"I always say yes to coffee," Clint says. While Clint is clutching his mug and making happy noises, Phil's baking pancakes.

Lucky is happily munching away at the cat food. It just seems right for Clint and Lucky to be here. It's comfortable and fills Phil with a warmth he didn't know he was missing.

Phil slides the pancakes onto two plates and places one of them in front of Clint. 

"Wow, these look great," Clint says. He tucks in happily. Phil sits down across from Clint and rests his hand on his intertwined fingers and watches him eat. He thinks that Clint doesn't get a lot of home-cooked meals. 

"Did you actually eat the cookies?" There were a lot of them.

Clint blushes. "Yeah, actually, I, uh, was thinking of you." 

Phil smiles. It's adorable, he thinks. A spark of hope is lighting up in him that maybe Clint wouldn't mind eating pancakes (and other food) in Phil's kitchen for the foreseeable future.

"Did you eat them so you had an excuse to come back so soon?" Phil asks teasingly.

Clint grins. "I'm pleading the fifth. Also Lucky helped."

Phil grins and knocks his foot against Clint's under the table. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

Clint ducks his head and hides his face in his mug.

"I don't mind," Phil adds softly. Clint knocks his leg against Phil's. Lucky lies down on their feet. Garfield's watching from the kitchen counter. Phil looks at them and feels that this might be the best Christmas he's ever had. There's nothing definite here yet and at some point they'll have to talk but for now they can just stay like this and enjoy the moment.

Clint reaches for Phil's hand and squeezes his fingers tightly. Phil holds on tight. Yes, they'll have time for talking later.


End file.
